Acknowledgement
by jellinor
Summary: "Fuji-senpai. When all this is over, let's play again. We've got a match to finish." And despite the somewhat sinister implication of that honour, Fuji decided that the knowledge that Echizen now considered him as a real threat at least made the sting of defeat a little bit more bearable. One-shot, set after Fuji's epic match against Shiraishi.


Author's Note: Fuji Syusuke's thoughts about defeat, Echizen Ryoma and what it means to be rivals, set immediately after his loss to Shitenhouji's Shiraishi at the semi-final stage of the National Tournament.

Disclaimer: I don't own _The Prince of Tennis_.

* * *

**Acknowledgement**

-#-

_Damn it!_

_Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!_

Fuji Syusuke clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to somehow contain the frustration that was welling up inside of him and threatening to take over completely. This was something entirely unfamiliar, because never in his fourteen years of life (and counting) had he ever stooped to such emotional lows that he vented his aggravations through something as distasteful and vulgar as cursing, even if this was only in the safety of his own mind.

But then, perhaps it was only natural; after all, he had never been one to lose his tennis matches, either.

At the end of their short one-set match, the Shitenhouji captain had acknowledged his strength; it was a gesture that was both a mark of respect for his opponent and made in the spirit of good sportsmanship, but one that Fuji was unable to appreciate properly due to his newfound state of sheer mental _agony_.

Of course, as an experienced tennis player, Fuji was no stranger to defeat and disappointment. Regretfully, such annoyances had presented themselves plenty of times in the past: among the more recent were the doubles games he had been forced to withdraw from, and then there was the one singles match against Tezuka, though that loss had been unofficial.

But even those memories – and the knowledge that, really, despite appearances and unbeaten records, there was no such thing as true invincibility – felt so very distant as he was sitting there, alone on his bench and well away from the rest of the team, hidden from their view by a towel. The aftertaste of defeat was decidedly different somehow and many, _many_ times more unpleasant.

Whenever he had withdrawn from a doubles game, he had always done so with good reason; as much as he wanted to finish what he had started, Fuji would never sacrifice a teammate's health and well-being to do so. While he freely admitted to belonging to the more sadistic end of the spectrum, he had never been excessively cruel.

And that ranking match he had played against Tezuka... That had been nothing short of _sublime_. Fuji could still recall moments in that match that were too delicious to be put into words, and he could still feel the adrenaline – the _excitement_ – rush through his veins, and the tension and anticipation tingle on his skin. For the first time in his life, his senses had been focused on one thing only: to win, and he had wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything else. This had been an entirely new sensation: to so singularly desire something with all of his heart, throwing off even his most secret inhibitions and doubts in the process. That time, he had played only on instinct and will, giving everything he had (and so much _more_) into each and every one of their baseline duels.

Fuji had, for the first time, played his tennis not for the short-lived thrill of pushing his opponents higher and further just to let them fall, faster and faster and so brilliantly, but for _himself_.

So when they finally shook hands at the net, bringing their battle to an end as was customary, he had been filled with a sense of satisfaction despite his loss. Only, perhaps that wasn't _entirely_ true, because somewhere, intermingling with that satisfaction, there had also been a vague feeling of relief. His long-awaited match against Tezuka had not only confirmed that he had the necessary talent and skill to compete at a National level, but it proved that he also possessed enough determination. That steely, unyielding resolve to see even an impossible match through to the bitter end, no matter what – that quiet, fierce tenacity he had observed in the other members of the team so many times, but which he had never felt within himself, not really – had evaded him to a point where he had told Tezuka to take him off the team if he began to affect the others. But once he tasted that strange, all-consuming, _exhilarating_ feeling, Fuji finally understood what everything _meant_; and by then, he wanted more.

He would always be grateful to Tezuka for pushing him beyond his limits and for forcing him to open his eyes to what it meant to not only play tennis, but what it meant to truly compete and _win_.

But this defeat to Shiraishi... This defeat was something entirely different. This defeat throbbed and smarted; it _stung_. Even now, long after the umpire had called out the final scores, he was left with a horrible, haunting feeling that oscillated wildly between anger and regret. Anger because the others had believed in him, _counted_ on him – Seigaku's famous, celebrated, never-lost-a-match _genius_ – to do what he did best and just win it for all of them, and he had let them down; but also because unlike the others before it, this loss made him feel _vulnerable_ of all things, and that... That was just ridiculous.

Still, ridiculous or not, that match against Shitenhouji's captain had exposed problems in his tennis that Fuji could neither deny nor ignore, even if he had wanted to. His mind was already replaying each point, analyzing each shot, dissecting each tactical decision, taunting him and his shortcomings:

_If only_ he hadn't thrown away five whole games so carelessly.

_If only_ he had adapted to Shiraishi's play quicker. Bible or not, it hadn't been impossible to read.

_If only_ he hadn't launched his counterattack so late.

_If only_ he had been sharper, better, faster, _stronger_ in the end.

_If only_ he hadn't lost.

_If_ _only_—

His increasingly frantic train of thought came to an abrupt halt when someone suddenly sat himself down on the bench next to him, uninvited. Perhaps it was that complete indifference to privacy, but even without removing the thin piece of cloth that was his only shield against the many inquisitive eyes of the outside world, Fuji was certain that if he looked he would come eye to eye with none other than their youngest, but undoubtedly most talented member. After all, the others would either be too tactful (Tezuka, Taka-san, Kaidoh and in this particular case possibly even Inui) or too anxious (Eiji, Oishi and Momoshiro) to approach him in this state. He could only imagine what it must look like to the rest: the great, almighty Fuji Syusuke reduced to moping under a towel!Really, the whole situation was so utterly, utterly _pathetic_ that Fuji didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

_Ne, Echizen?_ the third-year caught himself thinking. _Have you come here to gloat? To lecture me, perhaps? Or scolding me for being so careless? For being only mada mada?_

The level of bitterness and outright resentment directed towards his teammate surprised even Fuji himself; under more normal circumstances, such thoughts would never have entered his head at all (though he sometimes _did_ feel that Echizen Ryoma's extraordinary confidence in himself, and in his ability to hit a tennis ball back and forth, rivalled even that of Hyoutei Gakuen's Atobe. The only real difference between the two was their respective presentations thereof: either Atobe was simply blessed with more flair to begin with –well, Fuji supposed that inventing shamelessly grand declarations like "Be awed by the sight of my prowess" demanded a fair share of the kind of overwhelming flamboyancy that couldn't be taught – or the rival captain simply possessed a wider vocabulary to express himself with. Inui maintained that the latter was the more likely out of the two, and Fuji could only agree. It was, after all, common knowledge that Echizen had spent most of his life in America; little wonder then, if his Japanese would have suffered as a result. This would also go a sufficient length in explaining why Echizen was so quiet). Still, due to the day's unexpected turn of events, any co-called "normality" – and with it, normal behaviour – had very much been thrown out of the window, because speaking of normalcy, Fuji did not normally lose at tennis, especially not in singles.

It was proving more difficult than he had preferred, but Fuji was trying very hard to 'snap out of it': not only to stop himself spiralling into a metaphorical black hole, which he knew wouldn't lead to anything constructive anyway, but also so he wouldn't voice something that he didn't mean and might even regret later on. Even so, fact remained that under normal circumstances, being defeated like this _just_ _did_ _not_ _happen_. Period.

"Fuji-senpai."

The lazy, pre-adolescent drawl that broke through his thoughts sounded every bit as disinterested and condescending as always, and Fuji braced himself for the customary "Mada mada dane, Someone-or-another-senpai". But to his surprise (and immense curiosity), it never came. Instead, the younger tennis player stated in an appropriately bored tone of voice:

"You sleep too much."

At this, Fuji simply waited under his towel, too astonished to reply.

"You would have taken him, had you woken up earlier," the boy with the cap continued before a distinct pop and a faint hiss betrayed the first-year's intention to enjoy his fourth Ponta of the day.

(Or would this, in fact, be his fifth? Or sixth, even? It was strange, but even this far into the season it was beyond Fuji and the rest of the regulars just _how_ Echizen had managed thus far in life without surrendering most of his teeth to multiple cavities and/or having contracted life-threatening diabetes. Even Inui admitted that he lacked data on this particular issue, and that really said something. But then again, most things about Echizen were still a mystery to the data specialist – as were many things concerning Tezuka and Fuji himself – though Fuji supposed that, really, this was a moot point.)

"I know," he said at last, even though answering at all felt somehow unnecessary. He sensed that Echizen already knew that he knew and that this wasn't the reason why he had brought it up. It was as if any affirmative from Fuji's part was more for Fuji's own benefit than for the first-year taking impressive swigs of his soda on the bench beside him. "It wasn't an impossible match for me to win. I know."

"When all this is over, let's play again."

The super rookie's unexpected request prompted Fuji to finally look up from the floor, and the sudden movement caused the towel to slide down from his head and instead settle in uneven bunches around his neck.

"We have a match to finish," Echizen finished nonchalantly, even managing a decent smirk behind his can of Ponta. "Or did you forget already, Fuji-senpai?"

"No. I remember," he replied, a little stunned. It was odd, but after talking to Echizen, it no longer felt like such an effort to smile. "And I definitely remember being in the lead, four games to three."

"Che, if it hadn't been for that stupid rain... I was about to make a comeback." Echizen clicked his tongue in annoyance before pulling his trademark white cap lower over his eyes and unceremoniously shoving a jersey towards his older teammate to take. "Momo-senpai and Kaidoh-senpai are up. Doubles two."

Fuji accepted his own Seigaku jacket without a word and watched the younger boy expertly toss the now empty Ponta can into a conveniently placed trashcan before stalking over to where Momoshiro and Kaidoh were standing, surrounded by the rest of the team, both fired up and rearing to go from the looks of it.

He continued to watch as Echizen leaned over to say something to the makeshift doubles pair; something that, whatever it was, had Eiji double over in fits of laughter and even Oishi smiling good-naturedly. So all things (and reactions) considered, Fuji wasn't at all surprised when Kaidoh's usual glare intensified threefold and Momoshiro proceeded to whack the first-year over his cap-clad head; and even less so when a confident "Che, mada mada dane, Momo-senpai" drifted over to where he was sitting.

_That Echizen Ryoma..._

Fuji shook his head in wonder as he zipped up his jersey in preparation to join the others in wishing the mismatched doubles team victory and the very best luck. He was positive that he would never quite grasp the super-talent from America that had taken the tennis club (and the rest of the tennis world) by storm, and who had carved out his own special place among them in his grumpy and slightly reserved way; and who, over time, had become irreplaceable to all of them for so many more reasons than just his tennis. (Not that it hurt to have him on their side for that reason, too, of course.)

And while most people would have considered the freshman's sudden demand to continue an interrupted tennis match from so long ago to be rather strange and insensitive – rude and callous even, especially considering the circumstances – Fuji couldn't help but to marvel at the timing, because Echizen really couldn't have planned it any better.

Because his challenge made it clear that he had discovered something during his senpai's match; something had aroused his curiosity enough for Fuji to be acknowledged, no matter how subtly, as something more than a valuable teammate and trusted ally. Fuji had now been reclassified and earmarked by Echizen as 'Competition', his status permanently upgraded from 'Mada mada' to 'Rival', and therefore worthy of time, effort and attention.

_Saa... I wonder how everything will turn out._

The tennis player, known (and equally feared, as he had noted with some amusement and just a little bit of professional pride) throughout the junior high school tennis circuit as the 'Tensai of Seigaku', smiled as he straightened, flinging the still damp towel down on the bench behind him in one smooth, decisive motion. The sulking and wallowing would end here, and from now on there would be no more losing: not only did he detest the feelings that accompanied defeat, but he was determined to prove to Echizen (and everyone else) that he indeed merited the extraordinarily competitive first-year's attention and deserved his respect.

After all, it had taken far too long for Fuji Syusuke to finally join Tezuka Kunimitsu as one of the handful of tennis players that their youngest deemed truly worth challenging and perhaps crushing under a sneaker-clad foot, sometime in the not too far off future.

Well.

So despite the somewhat sinister implication of that honour, Fuji decided that the knowledge that Echizen now considered him as a real threat at least made the sting of defeat a little bit more bearable.


End file.
